The Letter
by KK1522
Summary: A/U fic...what if Sara had actually taken that leave of absence?


A/N:  OK I need the angst.  It was buggin' me.  Hope you like it.  (hope it's not too confusing)  O, and I would like to thank Rascal Flatts, and their song "Moving On".  I recommend to download it…and read this fic at the same time.  But then again, you don't have to listen to me. PS: reloaded cuz of editing mistakes.  MY bad.

Read on!  (R&R please?)

* * * * * * *

It was November now.  

The nights were long as the days grew shorter.

The air was cool—but it was still warmer than what she was used to.  

She closed her eyes as she breathed deeply.

The air smelled familiar. 

Even after all these years.

Her eyes opened slowly, squinting into the afternoon sun.

She shifted slightly, the bench creaking beneath her.

The shadows had shifted.  The temperature had changed.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there.

Only that her watch now read 5:08.

She sighed again, clutching the envelope in her hand.

The aging paper crinkled in her grip.  Its yellowed edges resisted change.

No stamp lay in the corner.  No return address written.

It had never been meant to be mailed.

Only a name was simply scrawled on the front.

She gripped the letter through the envelope, feeling the folded edge beneath the outer layer. 

One page.  That's all it was now.

Just one page.

After all the revisions—after starting over hundreds of times—it had finally been finished.

Two years ago.

She looked down at her hands.  At the envelope she was holding.

She knew what lay in it.  What words had been carefully written.

What mistakes had been edited out.

What pain lay hidden beneath those cursive letters.

She still knew—even after all those years.  She still knew.

Her eyes closed again—her mind began to tug at distant memories she had at one time, tried hard to forget.

Her grip tightened.

A tear slid down her cheek.

* * * * * * *

He had come looking for her that rainy night. 

But it had been too late.

He had watched her drive away, as he stood there in the street.

His arms hanging lifelessly by his side.

She had gazed at him through her rear view mirror—his figure slowly vanishing in the distance.

That was the last time she had seen him.

The phone calls had stopped some time later.

He had realized that she wasn't coming back.

It was then that he had sent her the letter.

She hadn't noticed the envelope in her stack of bills that afternoon.  It had sat lazily all afternoon in the dying sun.

It wasn't until later that she found it.  The penmanship had been instantly recognizable. 

The other mail fell away onto her lap as she held out that single envelope.

She couldn't remember how long she sat there looking at it.  She couldn't remember how much time passed as she sat there, staring.

Her heart had initially skipped a beat at the recognition of the writing—but it now dully thumped in her chest.

She couldn't open it.  She couldn't read what he had written.  She couldn't go back to that.

So the envelope was tossed to the side.

Out of the way.

It was not necessarily forgotten—just avoided.

It had sat high up on a shelf, gathering dust.

Where sunlight could not harm it.

Where she couldn't see it.

No other letters came after that.

Years passed—she moved on.  The memory of the letter slowly escaped her mind.

Until one night.  Until one phone call—had brought it all back.

* * * * * * * *

The wind stirred, waking her from her trance.  The bench creaked again.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, dusk was falling.  The once blue sky was now on fire.

She wiped the tear away from her check with the back of her hand.

She still held the envelope.  

She remembered what he had written.  

The crispness of his script—the pleading of his tone.

_Dear Sara._

She had barely gotten past that first part.  Tear drops stained the once white paper, causing the ink to smudge—but she could still read it.  

_It's been a while since we've last talked.  I noticed you don't call as much as you used too—was it something I said?  If so, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for what I've said—I'm sorry we don't talk anymore—but most of all, I'm sorry I made you leave.  It was never my intention to drive you away, I hope you realize that.  It was never my intention to lose you.  With everything I've lost in losing you—hopefully forgiveness will find me somewhere down this lonely road._

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered.

_If you find yourself able to forgive me Sara—would you come back?  The lab misses you, Catherine, Nick, Warrick, Greg—they all want to see you again.  If you can't find it in your heart to forgive me—could you at least come back for them?_

She wiped her eyes.  She remembered that the next part had been quickly scribbled down—as if he was late for something.

_I'm burdened with my own blame, trapped in the past since you left.  I need you Sara.  I need you back here in Vegas.  I need you here with me._

Her eyes clamped shut—trying to stop the flow of tears.  She covered her face with her free hand—embarrassed at her show of emotion.

No one was around to notice.

Her pride had kept her from reading that letter.

_I need you._

After a moment she looked out into the field in front of her.

It had taken her almost ten years to return.

Almost ten years to write back to him.

_Dear Gil._

Her hand was unsteady as she lifted the pen from the paper.

_I know it has been a while since we've last talked.  I could lie to you and tell you that work has been keeping me busy—but again, that would be a lie.  And you would know that, you always did.  _

She smiled.

_There comes a time in everyone's life where all you see are the years passing by—and I had made up my mind that, that wasn't going to happen anymore.  At last I could see that life had been patiently waiting for me.  I had to leave.  I had to get away.  From Vegas.  From everybody.  From you most of all.  _

Her pen shook.

_So I sold what I could, and packed what was left.  I realized that I've loved like I should—but I was living like I shouldn't.  I regret a lot about leaving Vegas—about leaving you—but I can't be trapped in the past.  I had to move on.  I've tried dealing with my ghosts, and for once, I think I'm finally content with my past, even if I choose to regret it._

She stopped writing for a moment.  

_What I guess I'm trying to say is, in so many words, is that I am not sorry that I left you—but I am sorry I never wrote you back—I am sorry I ignored you for so long.  However most of all, I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye to you._

She closed her eyes briefly.

_And hopefully you will find yourself, as I once did— able to forgive—able to forgive me and my own foolish pride._

She found the marker easily.

It seemed so alone.

So detached.

She stood there a minute, clutching her letter.

The tears fighting through her mask.

She wiped them away as she took a step closer.

It was time.

She bent down and laid the envelope on the ground in front of the graying stone.

A rock was added for weight.

But it really didn't matter.

It didn't matter if the wind carried away her words.

It didn't matter if the rain washed away the ink.

It didn't matter.

She knew he'd get the message somehow.

As she stood up, she touched her fingers to her lips, and gently reached down, and rested her hand on the gravestone in front of her.

The coolness of the stone eased her pain—if only for a moment.

_I'm sorry._

Her eyes close.

She released her grip, her hand shaking slightly.

The wind rustled the remaining leaves in the trees.

She sighed.

The air still smelled familiar.

Even after all these years.

"Goodbye."

~FIN~


End file.
